


The Noble Stone

by MidnightMoonbeam



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 17:37:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12799107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightMoonbeam/pseuds/MidnightMoonbeam
Summary: A lord of the Anglo-saxons fights int he battle of Brunanbruh. He loses all the men he brought with him and suffers terrible guilt over their deaths. to top it off he also suffers PTSD from the battle.





	The Noble Stone

“Many lords has Constantin Mac Aeda lost this day, my king” said Lord Edward Fairfax, “as has Olaf Guthfrithson lost many warriors.”  
“aye, my friend, but this battle has been costly on us as well” King Æthelstan, former king of the Anglo-Saxons and current king of the English, was weary of battle, looked to his friend of many years, “but we have secured the future of Briton” The battle was hard fought, but Constantin Mac Aeda and his Norse allies had been routed in a grand battle that historians would later call one of the greatest Anglo-Saxon battles in history. The were standing in a bloodied field, dead footmen and warriors scattered about. The smell of bloodied flesh filled the air and carrion birds swooped about amid the screams of the wounded and dying. 

The battle had been long and brutal. Both sides had lost many men, two of Æthelstan’s own cousins had been killed, as had Constantin Mac Aeda’s brother. But in the end, the battle of Brunanburh had been won by the English, Olaf Guthfrithson had sailed back to his homeland leaving Constantin Mac Aeda of Alba and Owain ap Dyfnwal of Strathclyde to surrender to the English.

Lord Edward of the ancient and noble house of Fairfax stood on a small grassy hill overlooking the aftermath of battle. AS he stood there his thoughts turned to home. His daughter Elizabeth will have just passed her fifteenth year and would soon be receiving suitors for marriage. He would have to hurry home to oversee the process. 

“My lord king, I have performed my duties and the battle is won, may I have leave to depart for home?” Edward asked.

“Lord Fairfax, you have performed your duties admirably, and you are correct, the battle is indeed won. You make take your leave, have safe travels, my friend.” Æthelstan replied. He gestured to some unhurt soldiers, “I will send a few of my soldiers with you for your trip home, the roads can be unsafe this far north.”

Edward held lands in Wessex, to the Southeast of London. He lived in a sprawling estate with a small town encircling it. As he approached the entrance to the town, the people crowded around his procession, shouting to and at the returned Lord. His soldier escort elbowed their way through the crowd, injuring some in the process. Lord Fairfax continued to plod through the muddy road through to town toward his estate. As they approached his estate, Lord Fairfax let out a sigh, he had missed this place. The soldiers broke off from him when he reached the gates of his estate. His family greeted him at the door. His beautiful daughter Godiva, almost a woman. His wife, Elizabeth, reached the door next, though it had been an arranged marriage, they had learned to care for each other. His daughter lunged into his arms. His wife stood stoically behind her, but he could see her smile. He embraced his daughter tightly. She hugged him back, happy tears in her eyes.  
That night, Edward awoke in a cold sweat, He could still hear the screams of the dying soldiers he’d dreamed about. He remembered the Vikings, fighting like animals, they had broken through the Anglo-Saxons’ initial shield wall. In a tactic reminiscent of barbarians fighting the romans, the wild nature of the Vikings had disrupted the Anglo-Saxon defense. He thought of his men, all dead now. They had died bravely, swords in hand. He had led them in a charge against the Viking flanks, and had been the only survivor of their little conflict. He felt guilt, guilt because hadn’t brought home husbands or sons. Hadn’t brought home anyone.  
The next morning, he took a walk in the gardens surrounding his estate. He came upon his wife, Elizabeth, sitting on a bench under a small tree. The look in her eyes was distant, as if her mind was far away. He approached her slowly and sat next to her. He wrapped an arm over her shoulder, startling her out of her daydreams.

“Edward? what are you doing?” She asked. He leaned in closer and kissed her cheek.

“I missed you so much” he whispered. She gazed into his eyes. He leaned in to kiss her again, but she gently stopped him. 

“what happened to you? You’re… different” She looked at him. He looked tired, his posture wasn’t quite solid, like it used to be. His eyes, once vibrant and confident, now held a haunted look, and they seemed to gaze off into the distance. 

“War happened” he said, “I saw my men, most of whom I’ve known for years, get killed before my eyes. I had to come home to see wives and mothers, who had lost it their husbands and sons. They trusted me to bring them home… and I failed” he wept in her arms. All his composure lost. She held him gently. To see this once strong man broken in her arms almost broke her heart. The only thing that saved it was the fact that he would get better, he would be strong again.  
That night he dreamed of the battle again. This time he saw the faces of his men, bloodied and battered on the ground. He walked among them, staring at them. Suddenly they rose as one, shambling corpses rising to face him.

“We trusted you!”

“You were a hero to us!”

“You killed us!”

“Kill him!” was echoed more than once as the closed in. He awoke as their clammy hands closed on his throat. Cold sweat coated his body and he stood slowly. His whole body shaking slightly, he moved toward a window. To his eyes, the stars seemed to spell out his failures, the faces of his men still burned in his mind.  
The next morning a messenger arrived from the King. He bore his message straight to the estate, the men at the gates, some of a few left, let him through. The message was an invitation to the funerals of the Kings cousins, slain in the battle. Edward penned a reply and sent it with the messenger. He would attend, to honor not only the king’s cousins, but all those who fell in the battle. 

He took his best horse, Gladiator, and some of the few guards remaining to London. He wished he could say the trip was uneventful, but this was not to be the case. Bandits, dregs of society that preyed on those weaker than them to make a dishonest profit, struck on the trip to London. The guards drew their swords and attacked, as did Edward. But as he struck at a bandit his mind flashed back to the combat he had fought in Brunanbruh. The clangs of swords on shields, the screams of the wounded. He forced his mind to the present just in time to avoid the slash of a sword. A bandit holding its hilt. It had come so close to skewering him. He shook his head, getting the last of the flashback out of it as he gripped the hilt of his sword. He swung it viciously, slashing a bandit from shoulder to hip, his organs spilling out onto the ground. He heard a cry for help and spun around, two bandits were closing on one of his guards. The man had fallen to the ground and was attempting to parry their attacks while on the ground. Edward ran towards the fallen man, blade in hand. He slashed wildly at the nearest bandit, grazing the man’s side, opening a bloody gash in his side. He spun around, his adrenaline numbing the pain. The wild look in his eyes gave Edward brief pause. He man’s eyes were flashing with rage and pain. He raised his weapon, an improvised axe, and swung it at Edward’s head, Edward ducked to the side and jabbed his blade forward, by mere chance, catching the man in the throat. In his last moment of life, his eyes betrayed the shock he felt, as his life faded. The last man charged at Edward’s back but took a sword to the gut courtesy of one of the guards. 

The end of the small skirmish left several bandits dead, as well as two of lord Edward’s guards. As he stared at their bloodied faces, he felt immense guilt. Two more lives lost, two more men who depended on him lost. As he stared, he saw all his men, lying dead on a battlefield far from their home, never again to see their mothers, their wives, their children. His guilt felt like a massive stone on his body, weighing him down. He was drowning in a sea of sadness.

“my lord?” one of his men was standing at his shoulder, “my lord, are you alright?’

“Yes, I will be” he wouldn’t be, not for a long time.


End file.
